by Alice Quinn
73
I didn’t know if we were any further ahead here. Did we really know who had killed Max Pinson, or how (and why?) that morning? I turned to Théodore.
“I want the whole story from you now, OK? Were you at the house before everyone else that morning? Did you go over there to murder your father or to take money from him so you could pay Datu? Or for some other reason? You’d better tell me now. It won’t go down well if I find out later that you’ve been lying.”
“Rosie, I swear! I wasn’t even in the area that morning. I have a concrete alibi. That’s why the cops aren’t bothering me. Who do you think I am? It isn’t the same for him over there,” he added, pointing to Humbert.
So quick to point the finger at someone else, even if that someone else was his brother. We were going around in circles. The wine bottle was empty.
“Does anyone want coffee?” I asked.
I stood and made my way to the kitchen. As I did so, the lights went out. Not just the light in the living room. All the lights. The whole house fell into total darkness.
“Stop messing around!” I shouted hysterically. “I can’t—”
I didn’t have time to finish my sentence. All of a sudden, I was caught and something was tied around my wrists. I was marched out of the house military-style through the kitchen patio door. The others must not have heard a thing despite my yelling.
I had no coat on and no shoes (only big fluffy socks), and the cold hit me immediately. I was struggling with my assailant as much as I could, but there wasn’t anything I could do. He was far too strong.
I knew him. FBI guy. I could tell by his furtive behavior . . . and his build.
This guy had been following me, threatening me, terrifying me since the day of Max’s murder. Was it just a coincidence? A consequence? Did this guy have something to do with the French FBI? OK, I know there is no such thing as the French FBI, but whatever the equivalent is called. It must exist. Maybe he was connected to my Russian friends, the Mamma? But it was more likely to have something to do with Max, right? Why did he want to hurt me? Was he the one who’d hidden the canvas in my house? Did he want to see me accused of all this? Why did he want to separate me from my babies? What could I possibly have ever done to him?
He searched my whole body, patting me down from head to foot. I screamed as loudly as I could. I only did it once, though—he gave me a punch in the stomach that sent me flying, and I landed on the gravel in a heap.
“Shut your fucking hole! I’m going to ask you a question, and you’re going to give me a straight answer. Where is the notebook?”
As he was asking his stupid question, he dragged my ass toward the front gate. I tried to stop him with everything I had, despite the huge pistol sticking painfully under my chin. He didn’t take too kindly to my resistance and gave me a few hard kicks in the ribs. Someone opened the front door to the house. It was dark—more than dark, it was pitch-black—but I recognized the sound.
I heard my hero’s voice call, “Rosie? Are you there? Rosie?”
I opened my mouth and was just about to holler out when I remembered the smack I’d received for doing the exact same thing moments earlier. I didn’t want the same thing to happen, so I thought on my feet (or on my ass). I grabbed a flower pot as I was being dragged and cracked him over his nut with it. It didn’t hurt him—I didn’t do a very good job of it—but it startled him enough to briefly lose his grip on me.
I cried out, “I’m here!”
FBI guy took the butt of his gun and pounded it into my skull. Poof! No more Rosie Maldonne!
When I regained consciousness, I was in the trunk of a car.
I was being jostled and tossed about in every direction. The good news was that I wasn’t tied up any more. The cords had worked their way loose. How was I going to get out of here?
I checked the lock. It couldn’t be opened from the inside. I kicked it a few times to try and break out. No luck. Finally, I decided to keep calm and wait and see what would happen.
We didn’t drive for long.
The car stopped, and I listened as the driver’s door was opened and slammed shut. I waited to see if the trunk would open. The guy would surely be pointing a machine gun at my mug any second.
The hatch to the backseats abruptly opened. It was like those elevators with doors on both sides. You stand there waiting for the doors you came through to open, only to realize another pair of doors has opened up behind you.
It was almost as dark inside the back of the car as it was in the trunk. There was a long boxed-up section along one side. I think it must have been for skis. It went right along the side of the car as far as I could see. Nifty. I tried to squeeze through the hatch. I slithered and wriggled, but there was no way past him.
“Why are you doing this? You can’t just go around throwing people into trunks! Where the fuck are we? Where are my kids? Who’s going to put them to bed tonight if I’m not there?”
He didn’t answer me. His phone was stuck to his lughole and he was murmuring something. Weird-sounding syllables. I had no clue.
74
After a few minutes, he held the phone out to me.
“Man for you on the telephone.”
“I couldn’t care less. If he wants to talk to me, tell him I have to be let out of this rattrap first. If not, I won’t say a word to anyone.”
Schwartzy pulled the phone back and continued to mutter. “Yeaaahh . . . No, no . . . No. It’s not . . . Yep . . . Yep . . .”
Then he got out of the car, went to the back, and opened up the trunk. That was a bit of luck. As I climbed out, I scanned the horizon left to right. I knew this place. We weren’t all that far from Gaston’s castle, in the middle of nowhere. As soon as my heel touched the ground, I fell. I’d overestimated my ability to walk in the mud. I’d managed one-and-a-half ministeps, then found myself spread-eagle in the dirt. It was grim.
“Enough joking around,” he said.
He pulled me upright by the scruff of my neck and threw me into the backseat of the car. This time, when he handed the phone over to me, I took it.
“What?” I grumbled.
“Mademoiselle Maldonne. I believe you may have in your possession a notebook. It belongs to us. I ask that you kindly return it to my friend there.”
Click.
Even though the guy had hung up almost as soon as he’d started speaking, I recognized him.
I gave the cell back to the brick shithouse and said, “You. I don’t like you. You fired a shot at me! Did you think I’d forget a detail like that? What have I ever done to you?”
“Eliminate annoying witness. Automatic response with me.”
“But why not go for me when you saw me at Max’s place?” I asked.
“Tried. No time.”
“Do you know how to speak in full sentences?”
“Notebook.”
“You’ve got issues. If I tell you I don’t have this notebook, you’re not going to believe me, are you? But I honestly don’t have it. I don’t know what notebook you’re talking about. And I certainly don’t have it. If I tell you I have this notebook, I’m lying. But you’ll believe me. So if I want you to believe me, I’m going to have to give you a notebook. And that’s where it gets complicated. What notebook am I going to give you if I don’t have one?”
“Stop with this shit. I know, you know, he knows—”
“Are you practicing your verbs or something? What are you doing?”
“—that you have this notebook. So this is what we’ll do. I’ll take you home, and you will introduce me to everyone else as a friend. You’ll kindly go and fetch the notebook from wherever you’ve hidden it and hand it to me, then I’ll leave without making a fuss. If you dare cause any complications or give me the wrong notebook, something you won’t like will happen to your children.”
There was no point thinking this one over. I didn’t have any choice but to do what he was asking.
And what he asked was exactly
what we did.
He parked the car in front of the gate. I went in with my new friend by my side. Everyone in the house was skittish. The place was a madhouse. Datu was in the middle of everyone looking haggard. They’d all been trying to come up with a solution to find me. Théodore was in a complete state.
I bounded farther into the room as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Hello! Hi everyone! I’m back! This is an old friend of mine. His name’s Schwartzy.”
Théodore gave him the evil eye.
I ran up to the bedroom and rooted through the wardrobe, the bedside tables, and any drawers I could find. I chanced upon a stack of little notebooks, and one of them was black. This could work. Inside, in tiny writing, were what appeared to be journal entries and rough drafts of poems. I hoped that Gaston wouldn’t be too mad that I’d given away some of his most intimate thoughts.
I saw that the twinny babies were wide awake in their bed. When they realized that I’d noticed them, they started giggling and gurgling in their own special language that they needed to go pee. I’ve been trying to teach them to wake up to go to the bathroom during the night when they feel the urge. We have a little party every time they wake up with dry diapers in the morning. They were also rambling on and on about wanting a glass of water, wanting a story, wanting to go downstairs with me. They were certainly wide awake!
They’re getting heavier by the minute, but I can still manage to carry both of them in my arms. So I picked them up, carried them downstairs, and handed the big meathead the notebook.
I said to the twinnies, “Say good evening to Uncle Schwartzy!”
“Eeeeeennnniiiiggg Unkie Swarchy!”
They were making big progress with their speech. It almost sounded normal! They were getting easier to understand with each sentence they uttered these days.
He didn’t react to them at all. I don’t think he even noticed they were there. I went into full panic mode when I saw him open the book and start scanning it. Was he trying to understand what it said? He must have thought it was in code. He was deep in study, but surely he must have noticed our audience. We had a pretty big one! Théodore (my Théodore), Humbert, Lani, and Datu—who was a little more distant than the others—were staring at us. No one moved. They were all as silent as the grave.
I said to the babies, “Uncle Schwartzy knows the best stories about witches.”
They squealed with delight and jumped down from my arms, ran across the room, and jumped up into his.
He wasn’t expecting it and had trouble getting them off him. It’s true that when my twinnies get an idea into their heads, they stick to it. They’re my little limpets.
“Tell stoooowwwwwyyyyy!”
He tried to carry on checking the notebook while attempting to drop the twins back down to the ground, but it couldn’t be done. He couldn’t shift both of them. If he managed to get one of them off and put her down on the sofa, she ran up to him and climbed back on while he was busy trying to get rid of the other one. Meanwhile, in the middle of his efforts to remove the babies from his person, he dropped the notebook and Théodore made a grab for it.
“What is this?” he asked. Did he think he was some sort of special agent? You’d have thought so the way he spoke. He must have been wondering how this whole episode could be just about a little black book.
Schwartzy must have seen red. He howled and, managing to fling both twins onto the sofa at the same time, threw himself at Théodore, grabbed the notebook, and marched outside through the kitchen patio doors. No more questions asked. Done and dusted.
We were all dumbfounded. There was a break in the proceedings. Everyone stood there in shock, Théo on the floor and the twinnies babbling with laughter.
“Whhherrre Unkkkiiiiiee? Heeeeyyyyyy!”
“Me love Unnnkkkiiiiieee!” shouted Emma.
“Me tooooo,” Lisa joined in.
They really couldn’t have been any more awake at this point. They were in top form, running around the room and screaming. Their antics were getting in the way of the rest of us being able to have a serious conversation about what had just happened.
They soon wore themselves out and fell asleep on the sofa. It was like the whole thing had been a surreal nightmare.
It’s not every day you get locked in a trunk.
As for the others, they were having trouble getting over the fact that Arnold Schwarzenegger had just paid us all a visit and then promptly disappeared. It was like he’d teleported in and out.
I knew time wasn’t on our side from then on. As soon as those guys found out that the notebook was full of just a load of weird poetry, the kids and I would be in serious danger. Plus, they knew where my hide out was. So it was now the worst hide out in the world ever.
I scanned the room. The furniture, the smells, the faces . . . I felt like I was about to lose it all. I glanced tenderly at Théo and ran into his embrace. We were stuck to one another. We stumbled over to the other sofa and fell down into a passionate kiss, melting into each other.
Lani and Humbert were also all over one another like a rash. Datu, as wound up as ever, simply paced around in circles. Every time he went past the window, he stared outside, scrutinizing the garden, or what he could see of it. All of a sudden, he took one look at me, then made a run for it. He went the same way as Schwartzy, as if he were chasing him, but he wasn’t doing any of the chasing—he was trying to escape. Who’d have thought it?
I raised my eyebrows. “This can’t be happening! Lani! Where’s your daddy going?”
Humbert translated for me and she replied, “At home. No worry!”
“I’m not worried at all. No, not at all, Lani! He can go where he wants. I don’t give two hoots.”
I pressed my body against Théo’s. He bent his head down to me and breathed in the scent of my hair. I knew I couldn’t stay much longer at the castle. The last few moments there were mine to savor.
Obviously I was superhappy to be snuggled up to Théodore, but my personality being what it is, I still had to get in a little dig.
“So I disappeared. Gone without a trace. And all you did was stay here, all cozy and warm? That must have been nice! You’re a real case, you know that?”
The poor guy’s face! I continued to bitch him out in my bossy tone, but I made it clear I was just teasing. “That’s it! Everyone to their rooms!”
I climbed the staircase with the babies in my arms and Théo by my side. I didn’t take my eyes off him.
The next step was to get ready to move out. And we had to do it . . . like . . . yesterday! I couldn’t waste time worrying about it all too much. I got as much of our stuff together as I could and let the kiddos sleep awhile. We had to be out of here before Schwartzy came back, because when he did, he’d kill my kids.
I lay down and must have fallen asleep for a few minutes because I woke up with a start. Everything was the same. It was what it was. It was four a.m.
Thursday: Maldonne! Atttt-eeeennnn-ttttiiiiooooon!
75
That morning, I heard the same Stevie Wonder lyrics about that loving phone call.
Mom! You sent me this song yesterday! What’s going on with you? I thought we’d dealt with Lani’s cell phone. Maybe the song had a different meaning today . . . or my mother needed some new records?
What were those suspicious noises?
I climbed up to the attic to get a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding landscape. They were all there. It seemed like every single police officer in the region had been sent out. There were police cars parked all along the road outside the castle, SWAT-team types all dressed in black with weapons coming out of their asses . . . all in position ready to aim and fire. They hadn’t made it onto Gaston’s property, but the street was swarming with blue.
And what were they aiming at? Us. Gaston’s sleepy castle. They were quicker off the mark than me, those guys. That bastard Schwartzy had turned me in! Did that mean he actually was French FBI? Or had he done me a favor?
I mean, I suppose he’d wanted me dead from the outset, so at least this was a step up.
The painting and the needle had been found at my place, and I couldn’t explain that crap away. It was the gallows for me. I know, I know, we don’t have the death penalty in France. I thought all those references were pretty funny at first, but now that it appeared like I might actually croak at the hands of the law, I couldn’t really see the funny side. There’d be no guillotine, but I was staring a life sentence in the face. Guaranteed.
I breathed in deeply, closed my eyes, and fingered my little heart pendant on the chain around my neck. It was like I was getting ready for a yoga class.
Inhale, exhale.
I picked up the key chain, the notebook, the little bottle of white liquid, and my Big Pink. I stuck them all in my big bag that I was still pretending was my purse. A girl always needs her purse.
I left the paintings and the statuette under the bed. Neither of them had anything to do with me. The police could make what they wanted of it. I certainly had no answers for them.
I threw on some of Gaston’s clean clothes and headed down to the kitchen to get a few provisions. I took Pastis with me back up to the bedroom.
“We’re getting out of here, Pastis. I don’t want you to be jerking around, OK? You have to follow me. That’s all there is to it.”
I’d decided to hell with all the others, I was going to save my own skin. Family Maldonne came first. End of story. Who did people think I was, anyway? Mother Theresa? I felt a little sorry for Lani because she didn’t have any official residency papers or anything. But at the same time, I couldn’t do anything about the immigration laws in France, could I? I just didn’t have the time!
I woke up the twins, changed them, and put my finger to my lips to stop their loud chattering. We all crept down the stairs. Pastis understood exactly what was going on. He closed up the rear. I can always count on that cat.
When we reached the downstairs hallway, we bumped into Lani. She was already wearing her coat and copied my famous gesture: She put her finger to her lips as soon as she saw us. She was in a state, silently scurrying around the place, wringing her hands, her eyes brimming with tears. After several hysterical whisperings, I eventually understood what was going on. She was worried half to death because she had no papers. She thought she was on her way to the hole. There were so many stories going around about illegal immigrants being out in refugee camps.
